Je Ne Regrette Rien
by ExplodingWeekend
Summary: AU  Domestic Verse I : Arthur has no idea why anyone would trust him with kids. Or Francis, for that matter. They can't even agree on good music, so what makes anyone think they'd be good with six year olds?


A/N: Alfred and Matthew would be horrible children (well, Alfred especially), but I feel like Francis and Arthur could handle them. If they didn't kill each other.

Oh yes, do listen to Edith Piaf. Or Susan Boyle if you must. And please review if you like it, for I may write another? You never know!

**Je Ne Regrette Rien**

"Bugger," Arthur swore as Francis pushed down heavily on the brake to avoid hitting the car that had stopped directly in front of them. The French man turned and glared at his companion.

"It's just traffic, there's no need to swear, and certainly not in front of the children."

It had been about a month since they entered this strange guardianship contract. It was a wonder they had lasted this long at all; there was nothing the two men could agree on, except that they each loved those kids that were now resting quietly in the backseat, safely buckled into their carseats.

The six year old brothers had refused to be separated, which left Francis and Arthur in the most unusual position of raising children while pretending to like each other as well.

Arthur sighed and swept a hand back to grab Alfred's foot, which had been kicking the back of his seat for the past fifteen minutes.

"Kids, don't repeat that," he ordered, while Francis switched on the radio. The announcement that was blaring on the news station reported an accident not far up from where they were—no doubt the cause of the traffic jam.

"Repeat what?" Alfred asked loudly between smacks of chewing gum.

"Never mind," Arthur muttered, letting go of the boy's leg and wincing when the kicking started up again.

They slunk forward through the traffic slowly.

"I still can't believe they actually gave us these damn kids," Arthur said. "Pardon my French," he corrected, after noticing the look Francis was pointedly giving him.

"Iggy!" Alfred shouted suddenly, and Arthur rolled his eyes. "Matty stole my hero!"

"Did not, eh!" The other boy spoke for what may have been the first time during that car ride. "You threw it at me!"

The boys started a not-so-quiet match of 'did not, did too' while Francis and Arthur tried to ignore them. It was times like these when it was hard to tell the brothers apart, for they looked so similar (after all, they were twins), when usually the disparity of their personalities gave them away easily. Now, however, they were both acting like, well… children.

After a while, Edith Piaf began to croon softly over the radio, and Matthew stilled.

"Shush," he told his brother. "I like this song. Papa, can you turn it louder?"

Francis smiled at his charge (Matthew had taken a liking to the Frenchman almost immediately, while Alfred had bonded easily with Arthur for whatever reason; Francis liked the quieter one more anyways, while he suspected the Englishman liked the challenge Alfred gave him) and did as he had asked.

"I don't like it," Alfred said after a while. "I can't understand the words."

However, he said no more while Edith sang to them. Arthur watched him toy with the action figure they had bought when visiting New York through the side mirror. Matthew must have given it back to him at some point during the fight.

When the song was finished, Arthur switched to a station he knew occasionally played music he liked. It was a commercial, but Francis made a face anyways.

"This better not be your punk rock junk," he complained, and Arthur huffed in embarrassment.

"That was a phase! Besides, this is classic. See!" He said, turning the volume louder as Susan Boyle started to sing about castles in the sky. Francis groaned loudly, which made Arthur squawk.

"I didn't say a word through that Piaf song! Besides, this is from _Les Mis__é__rables_, isn't that French or something?"

"But Susan Boyle, _mon ami_? Can you get any more _British_?"

"I am British, frog!"

"That was uncalled for, eyebrows— hey, I'm trying to drive, don't throw things!"

"You could have dodged that!"

"You threw it at my face! My beautiful _face_. Not all of us have bushy eyebrows to shield us from projectiles."

Arthur let out a roar. "Just wait until these kids are old enough, I'll curse you out right in front of them! Swear curses and _magic_ curses alike!"

They went on like that for the rest of the traffic jam as well as all the way home, the station switching from Susan Boyle to Edith Piaf and from Annie Lennox to Jacques Brel.

And Matthew and Alfred sat in the backseat, the sound of their parent's voices (however loud they were) lulling them to sleep.

When they finally calmed down, Arthur reached into the dashboard and pulled out a light blanket they had stolen from an airplane, placing it over the two. He smiled at the children before turning back, catching Francis' eye as he did so. He felt his face redden, a little embarrassed by the display.

Francis just smiled back, though, adjusting the rear view mirror a bit so they could watch the sleeping faces.

"I know why they let us have these kids, Arthur. They needed us, and I see now that we needed them too."

Arthur sighed, but the smile was still on his face. "I regret nothing."


End file.
